Requisite
by Deandra
Summary: Eomer faces a disagreeable task with some trepidation. One-shot.


**REQUISITE**

(Minas Tirith, May 3019 III)

This was a mistake, Eomer thought, pacing the room in agitation. He should never have agreed to it, but what else could he do. Now that he was king and relations with Gondor were restored, he would surely, at some point, be required to present himself. It was unavoidable. And if there was anything Eomer disliked, it was appearing foolish in the eyes of others. No, he must do this – but was this the best way… He had accepted Imrahil's offer hastily, thinking it an easy resolution to his problem, but now he was not so sure about it.

A knock at the door interrupted his frenzied reverie. "Enter," he called, and his door guard opened it to step inside.

"My lord, Lady Lothiriel, daughter of Prince Imrahil is here to see you."

Repressing a sigh, he nodded a gesture of consent for her to be shown in. He swallowed his nerves with determination. He must do this. The Mark depended on him to represent them well. Others had managed before him, and he would survive this. Could it truly be any worse than facing down a horde of Orcs and the might of Mordor?

The lady entered, and he supposed her physical appearance was about as he had expected from knowing the male members of her family. Tall and well formed, she moved with easy grace. Her eyes were that astonishing grey that was so prevalent in Gondor, and her hair the midnight black he had begun to find so appealing. But he certainly was grateful for one thing – that she was not much shorter than he was; he had always been uncomfortable bending to speak with shorter women.

"Lady Lothriel," he acknowledged. "I thank you for coming."

She curtsied prettily and smiled at him. "It is my pleasure, my Lord King."

He stiffened at the formality. No, if he must do this, he could not endure it being all politeness and forced manners. "Would…would you mind terribly if we were a bit less…formal, my lady? It would make this easier for me."

The confession cost him, and she seemed to realize it, but she merely smiled more warmly at him, replying, "That would be very agreeable. My family calls me Thiri, when we are alone together. I would be honored if you would do so as well, since you have become nearly family to my father and brothers. And what would you have me call you?"

"Eomer. Just Eomer." He did not add that it still gave him a jolt to hear himself referred to as King. That was Theoden, and then should have been Theodred. He swallowed hard again, eyeing her questioningly.

Since he had not offered, she suggested, "Shall we sit and talk for a few minutes, that we may become acquainted, Eomer?"

Her Gondorian accent gave an unusual lilt to his name, and it sent a pleasant current running through him. Odd. He had never had such a sensation before merely by hearing his name spoken. Gathering his wits about him, he gestured to a chair for her and took one nearby.

As he sat down, he realized just how much of his life in recent years had been given over to war. His mind was oddly blank as to what he might say to a noblewoman. As if sensing his hesitancy, she smiled encouragingly, "Would you tell me something of Rohan, Eomer? I grew up hearing vague stories about our northern neighbors, and I am all eagerness to become more familiar with your land and its people." Her eyes drew him in with their sincerity.

He raised an eyebrow in surprise, marshaling his unruly thoughts about the woman. Up til now, few Gondorians had shown much interest in his homeland, but, at least on that subject, he had no difficulty speaking.

"It is a land of rugged beauty, Thiri, with mountains and plains to fill the eye. Life can sometimes be hard, but it has made the Eorlingas a proud and strong people. Most of the eastern part of our land is plains, and that is where the horse herds are kept. The west is given more to cropland and homesteads.

"Meduseld, where resides the king, is set upon a high hill, and the roof gleams golden in the sun. From the terrace in front, you can see for leagues in most directions." He paused, thinking what more to tell her, but she interjected a comment of her own.

"I look forward to seeing it with my own eyes. Father tells me we are to visit when Theoden King is taken home and laid to rest. You will return in a few months to collect him, I believe?"

"Yes," Eomer said, swallowing the lump rising in his throat and constricting his speech. "Yes, Aragorn has given him place in the Hallows until then. I must go home to set my house in order and prepare to bring Theoden back, to lie among his kinsmen."

"I am told," she replied softly, "that he was as a father to you and your sister. My sincerest condolences on your loss." She sighed. "War is such an evil! It causes so much pain and rips families asunder!"

He nodded in agreement with her fervent observation. War did, indeed, do that, and he had seen far too much of it in his young life.

Trying to draw his thoughts back to the present situation, he eyed her warily and asked, "We should begin. How is this to be done?"

She rose gracefully, and he marveled at her fluid motion. Beside her, he felt clumsy and stiff. She must think him a great oaf!

She held out her right hand, and he cautiously reached for it, gripping it loosely. It seemed easiest to focus on her face as her expressions seemed to guide him almost as much as her words.

"We will begin slowly," she said. "There is a pattern, of course, to all of it, that must be followed. I am sure you will have no difficulty following my lead."

And then she began to hum a tune as she took the first step, indicating he should copy her movements. "And one-two-three, one-two-three…"

Her eyes were mesmerizing and he found himself relaxing. Perhaps he _could_ learn to dance in the Gondorian style after all. Even if he did not, certainly he could not desire a more attractive teacher!

THE END

9-9-12


End file.
